


to love and to lose

by ScottieIsImpatient



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Swearing, author cannot write romance, rather graphic descriptions of bullet wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25403239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScottieIsImpatient/pseuds/ScottieIsImpatient
Summary: Malcolm is shot- told from two POVs.
Relationships: Malcolm Reed & Charles "Trip" Tucker III, Malcolm Reed/Charles "Trip" Tucker III
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40





	to love and to lose

**Malcolm Reed**

Pain. Pain in his legs; his arms; his head; and most importantly, his chest, where the bullet had found its mark. They hadn’t seen the man. Some local, if the old-fashioned projectile gun was anything to by. Not the hostile invaders, yet, clearly, the local thought _they_ were the invaders.

Malcolm stumbles backwards, already the sticky warmth of blood spreading across his dark uniform. The phase pistol slips between his fingers, landing on the soft grass, and moments later, his own body follows suit. He doesn’t even have time to make sure everyone else is alright.

His breathing comes in short, audible gasps. He can’t even find the strength to blink. Malcolm lies there, staring blankly between the trees at the foreign constellations above him as his eyes get wetter and wetter, and the sky gets fuzzier and fuzzier.

It’s then that he realizes the wetness in his eyes are his own tears.

A face appears above him. Then another. He can’t focus on the details- they’re just featureless blobs.

“Hang in there, Malcolm,” says one of the faces. Malcolm finally blinks, trying to clear his vision, but his eyes don’t open once they’re shut. _Damn,_ he hisses in his mind. _Damn, damn, damn._

Someone presses their hands to his chest and Malcolm hisses. They’re trying to stop the bleeding – he’s lucid enough to know that, at least. Still, it’s all he can do to not fight them off. He probably couldn’t in his state.

 _Please let me fall unconscious,_ he begs to whatever deity will listen. He hears Trip’s worried voice shout something and a hand intertwining with his own. _Please let me go._

The pain only grows; traveling up his body, twisting at his organs. It laughs at him. Laughs at his predicament. It laughs in his father’s voice.

_“Should have signed up for the Navy…”_

Cold fingers curl around his neck. Malcolm sputters and spasms, trying desperately to claw away whatever is holding his throat shut. He feels blood drip down the side of his mouth. The shouting gets louder, and all the while, the fingers on his neck only grow tighter until Malcolm is finally granted his wish.

His body is warm and fuzzy. He knows immediately that something is wrong.

Malcolm’s eyes snap open to blinding white light and a trillion blurry faces above him. There’s something about this place that strikes him as familiar. Home? No, not home. Malcolm chuckles. He’s not home. That’s stupid.

“Lieutenant?” says a really, really muffled voice. One of the faces leans forward. “Lieutenant, can you hear me?”

Malcolm laughs again. Of course, he can hear. He hasn’t gone deaf!

The face moves away and says something else, but it isn’t directed at him, because a different voice responds. Everything is much too far away for him to make out, and besides, he’s feeling rather tired. He wants to sleep. Can he sleep?

Malcolm frowns. There’s some… _urgency_ in the back of his mind protesting the idea, but Phlox must have pumped him full with loads of drugs because he’s already…

Malcolm is scared. For the first time in what seems like ages, Malcolm is utterly terrified. The trees around him lean closer with each step he takes, faint laughter winding through the leaves with the wind. He grips the phase pistol tighter. He has a mission to accomplish.

Suddenly, a hand taps him on the shoulder. Malcolm whirls around, pistol already drawn, but he’s greeted by nothing more than empty shadows. Yet he can feel the presence of… something. Something – or perhaps some _one_ – is watching his every move. Something is observing him; analyzing him. The fear within him grows.

Then a gunshot goes off, and pain explodes in Malcolm’s chest.

Malcolm loses his balance and collapses to his knees on the dusty dirty road, his hands over his heart. The trees lean in, waiting eagerly for his next move.

When Malcolm draws his shaking hand away, he sees that he is not bleeding.

“What?” he exclaims quietly. Another voice overlaps his.

“Malcolm…”

Malcolm’s gaze shoots up and his eyes widen in horror.

Standing directly in front of him is Trip, his own eyes bigger than the moon. Blood slowly begins to stain the front of his shirt.

And then his limp body hits the ground.

Around him, the trees laugh. They laugh as Malcolm numbly crawls his way over to the man he thinks of as more than a friend. They laugh as Malcolm holds Trip’s body close, his skin still warm to the touch; blue eyes still open, filled with pain. They laugh as Malcolm buries his face in Trip’s hair and sobs.

“Malcolm!”

A hand on his arm.

 _No!_ his mind screams. _Don’t touch me!_

_Trip…_

A cold finger traces across the skin on Malcolm’s neck. A cruel voice laughs in his ear.

“Stop it!” Malcolm screams. The hand on his arm doesn’t relent.

A monitor goes off. Voices overlap, much too loud, and the light is much too bright. He’s struggling to breathe. Something is squeezing the life out of his heart; his lungs.

Malcolm is grateful when there’s a hiss at the side of his neck and he falls into a peaceful oblivion.

The world is still a haze of colours when he next wakes up, but at least he’s calmer. There’s no more cold hand on his neck – it was never there in the first place. There are no trees laughing at him. Trip wasn’t shot.

 _Malcolm_ was the one shot.

Malcolm lies still for a good five minutes, listening to his own short and wheezy breathing. He doesn’t feel like he’s getting enough air and he’s starting to feel a bit lightheaded. Perhaps that’s why Phlox materializes out of thin air, as he often does. Or maybe something went off the moment Malcolm woke, and the doctor just didn’t want to disturb him until now.

“Ah, good evening, Lieutenant!” chirps Phlox. As Malcolm tries to raise his head he warns, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Your body has suffered some extreme shock.”

Malcolm swallows. “…shock?” he gasps out pathetically. Fortunately, the doctor seems to understand.

“The projectile was deflected off your fifth rib, subsequently sending a bone shard into your lung. Commander Tucker and Captain Archer both noticed your apparent struggle for breath while on the planet, and it was thanks to their observation I reached my conclusion so quickly.

“We used the transporter to get you up here in prepped for surgery. I had to actually shoo Commander Tucker away from you.” A smile spreads across the doctor’s face. “He was rather concerned about you.”

“I’ll bet,” Malcolm responds quietly. He feels the tips of his ears go red. _Bloody Trip, always making a fuss about things._

“Anyway,” Phlox continues cheerfully, “the surgery was a success, we managed to remove the projectile and stop the bleeding. It took quite a bit of work, mind you. You have developed a mild fever but nothing I can’t fix. Oh, and as I’m sure you’re wondering, it’s been close to four days since we first brought you up.”

Normally he would feel shocked. Malcolm is too tired to feel anything at the moment.

Phlox clears his throat. “Are you experiencing any pain at all?”

“Only in every bloody inch of my body.”

Malcolm regrets it as soon as the words are out of his mouth. “I mean-”

“Quite alright, Lieutenant.” Phlox approaches the side of his bed, carrying what Malcolm thinks is a PADD. “I know what you meant. I’m just going to take a quick scan, if you don’t mind. Completely non-invasive.”

“Mhm,” Malcolm mumbles. After a few minutes of awkward silence – save for the occasional mutter in Denobulan – Phlox announces his findings.

“Your blood pressure has decreased, and your respiration is still high. Try not to move, Mr. Reed!” he adds as Malcolm struggles onto his elbows.

He flops back down with a defeated sigh, having no more energy to spare anyway. “Let me guess. More rest?”

“That would certainly help,” Phlox says with a blurry smile. Malcolm nods and closes his eyes.

“Good. ‘Cause I’m tired anyway.”

“Good night, Lieutenant,” he hears Phlox say just before he drifts off.

It’s morning when he wakes up again. He knows this because the exact words Phlox speaks to Trip as he walks in are, “good morning, Commander!”

“Mornin’, Phlox.” Trip’s voice is strained with fake optimism.

 _Right,_ Malcolm thinks. _Last time he saw me I was freaking out._ He winces behind closed eyes at the memory.

“Any change?” Trip continues.

“Indeed. He appeared quite lucid last night, though he didn’t stay awake very long.”

“Tryna get away from all o’ us, are ya, Malcolm?” Trip calls from across the room, Malcolm can hear the smile on his face, which makes Malcolm smile too. “I’m afraid Doctor Phlox ain’t gonna let you go that easy.”

“I think I know that,” says Malcolm weakly.

A stunned silence settles in, causing Malcolm to smirk with pride. “Did I make the… great Commander Tucker spe-speechless?” Damn, he’s already starting to run out of breath.

“Malcolm?” Trip asks. Then again; “Malcolm,” but it’s no longer a question this time.

“As you humans would say, welcome back to the “land of the living”,” Phlox says as Trip practically skips forward.

At the last minute, the Commander stops himself, seemingly re-evaluating the hug he was about to give. He gives Malcolm a light kiss on the forehead instead, before sitting down next to Malcolm’s bed and holding his hand. “Good to see yer eyes, Malcolm.”

Malcolm smiles as big as he dares. “Hi, Trip.”

“You gave us one helluva scare, y’know. Cap’n was screamin’ bloody murder at the guy who shot ya.”

“We didn’t attract much attention, I hope?” Malcolm says with a wince.

Trip gives a short chuckle. “As far as they know, we’re just a buncha crazy lunatics from the other colony. No one suspected a thing.” He pauses. “Well, perhaps they question the Cap’n’s sanity, but nothing else.”

Malcolm laughs. It hurts his ribs a little, but he doesn’t mind.

Suddenly Trip bends forward until their foreheads are touching and their lips are inches apart, and Malcolm can feel the commander’s breath as he whispers, “you better not scare me like that again.”

“Don’t worry,” Malcolm says softly. “You wouldn’t let me leave you anyway.”

“Darn right.”

Then Trip closes the gab between them.

**Trip Tucker**

_Oh, god,_ Trip thinks – the only thing his shock-filled mind seems to be capable of doing – as the dark figure slowly rises from the opposite bushes. _Oh, damn,_ Trip thinks as the deafening sound of a gun firing disturbs the tranquil forest. _Oh, no,_ Trip thinks as he watches the blood spread across Malcolm’s uniform. And then, finally, _oh, fuck,_ as the man collapses to his knees.

Time resumes.

“Malcolm!” Trip cries, lunging forward. He pushes past Archer, who seems frozen in shock, and kneels down beside the armoury officer. “Aw, hell…”

Malcolm’s grey eyes are wide open, fear and pain evident in each iris. His chest rises and falls in an uneven pattern, as if he were struggling to breathe. “Hang in there,” Trip says, his voice catching in his throat. God, there’s so much _blood_ and he knows he has to act fast if he wants Malcolm to live. He presses his hands against the wound to try and slow the bleeding. Malcolm groans.

“I know, I know,” Trip hisses, “It hurts, I know. Just hang in there for me, ‘kay? Hang in there, Malcolm.” He glances over his shoulder, to where the rest of the away team are standing there with their mouths hanging open. “For fuck’s sake, y’all, come an’ help me!”

Trip’s hands are becoming bright red with blood. At the sight of them his stomach churns and he wobbles backwards. Fortunately, someone else takes over for him; using their jacket to staunch the bleeding. Malcolm cries out and thrashes weakly, his hand wandering for any kind of outlet. Carefully, Trip takes it.

“It’s gunna be okay, Malcolm,” he whispers. “Yer gonna be fine.”

But is he convincing himself- or Malcolm?

Trip is wearing a hole in the sickbay floor as he waits for the doctor’s news. Malcolm’s been in surgery for a little over three hours now. Removing the projectile; blood transfusions… Trip feels sick just _thinking_ about it.

Archer steps hastily through the sickbay doors, his expression twisted. “Anything new?” he asks. Trip shakes his head.

It’s an eerie coincidence that at just that moment, Phlox emerges from the back surgery room with a medic trailing along close behind. Phlox utters something to the medic, who immediately jogs over to one of the many jars the doctor keeps on his shelves.

“Is he gunna be okay?” Trip asks anxiously. The doctor glances up. His eyes are uncharacteristically weary.

“It’s a little more complicated than I previously though,” Phlox sighs. “There’s a lot of bleeding. The bullet hit his rib, sending a shard of bone into his lung. I have to remove much more than just the original projectile.”

“But he’s gunna be okay, right?” Trip asks again. Archer lays a hand on his shoulder. “He’s gunna live?”

“Lieutenant Reed is a strong man,” Phlox says with a small smile. “I have faith that he will pull through.”

The lecture they get from T’Pol is the most agitated one Trip has seen yet.

“You not only allowed your emotions to get the better of you,” the Vulcan says tightly, “you revealed your true identities, practically lead the invaders to an Eastern colony, and got yourselves kicked off the planet.”

Trip notices Archer’s fists clench and quickly jumps in. “We destroyed the invader’s fleet before they even touched the colony,” he says. “They didn’t get anywhere near the locals.”

“That is not the point,” says T’Pol. “The Harbana are now shutting down all interstellar travel until they are properly prepared for the event of invasion. Though the invaders have been warded off, there is nothing to stop them from coming back. And next time, they won’t have _Enterprise_ and a crew of humans to help.”

“Malcolm was injured-”

“And is currently showing a promising recovery, which would have happened even if the captain hadn’t shouted at a local.”

“I’ll admit,” Archer finally says, “I let my emotions get the better of me. But, damn, T’Pol; have some heart! My tactical officer was bleeding from his chest and looked inches from death.”

T’Pol blinks. “I do not see what this has to do with the presence of a heart.”

Archer sighs in frustration and storms out of the room without another word. Nervously, Trip glances back to the Vulcan, who only seems to have gotten tenser.

“Captain Archer is a highly emotional man,” T’Pol observes with a classic raise of the eyebrow. “However, this is drastic, even for him.”

“Malcolm got shot in the _chest,_ T’Pol.”

“As I recall, Doctor Phlox said the projectile missed his heart. A shard of bone entered his left lung, but he will be fine.”

“That’s not the point,” Trip says, echoing her earlier words. He’s about to launch into an explanation but, seeing the Vulcan’s blank expression, merely sighs and shakes his head. “I’ll be in sickbay if yer lookin’ fer me.”

Was that a twitch of emotion in her gaze? Trip doesn’t know. He’s already out of the situation room and heading down the hallway.

Malcolm is asleep. Trip always found it odd how vulnerable Malcolm looked when he slept- so unlike the stiff, by-the-book armoury officer who seems to inhabit his body during the awake hours. Malcolm becomes a different person at night. He becomes someone who makes dirty jokes and laughs more than anyone he’s ever known, although that could just be the drinks they share. The one night they fell asleep in the lounge revealed that Malcolm tended to unconsciously lean towards body heat. Of course, neither man spoke of this the next morning, perhaps too afraid to be the one to voice his feelings first. The hangovers were killer anyway.

Watching Malcolm as he sleeps, Trip thinks about all these things, but with an air of sadness to them. Malcolm’s been in sickbay for two days, now, and though he’s woken up a few times already he never stays awake, nor is he lucid enough for conversation.

The monitor above him beeps, indicating a change in brain patterns. Trip’s eyes dart downwards, where Malcolm is begins to shuffle uncomfortably, small moans escaping from his lips, but he won’t open his eyes.

“Malcolm?” Trip whispers.

And then Malcolm spasms so suddenly Trip physically lurches back.

“Stop it!” Malcolm is screeching. “Don’t… don’t!”

Trip reaches forward, desperately trying to get the man to calm down, but it only seems to make things worse. Phlox comes running out from behind a shelf with a medical ensign in tow, hyposprays at the ready. Trip glances between them then back at Malcolm. “I-I dunno what happened,” he stutters as Malcolm kicks the sheets. “He just- he woke up an’ alluva sudden…”

“Leave him alone,” Malcolm sobs. His eyes are open but hollow and unseeing. Finally, a quick hypo with a sedative calms him down. Trip is still frozen, his hand glued to Malcolm’s arm as he watches the man slowly return to his previous state.

“He developed a fever a couple of hours ago,” Phlox informs the commander. “I’m monitoring it. It shouldn’t be too dangerous.”

“Thanks, doc.”

“Would you like to stay with him for a little while longer? An episode like that isn’t likely to happen again this soon.”

Trip shakes his head. It’s become hard to breathe in sickbay; he can’t stand it anymore. “I gotta get some work done,” he mumbles and bolts for the doors.

Trip hesitates outside the armoury officer’s door, wondering if perhaps going inside is really such a good idea. Malcolm’s only been back on his feet for five days, after all, and he’s not even back on duty yet. _Stop being such an idiot,_ Trip tells himself. They need to have an overdue talk. Neither one of them has mentioned the kiss they shared and it’s _eating_ at Trip. He takes a deep breath and rings the bell.

Trip steps inside before Malcolm can even finish saying, “come in”, too scared he’ll change his mind at the last minute. Malcolm’s sitting at his desk, clearly engrossed with whatever he’s reading. A smile spreads across his lips when he finally notices who it is. “Commander!”

“I’m off duty, Malcolm. Mind if I come in?”

“Please.”

Malcolm is looking much better than he was eight days ago, back when he was on death’s doorstep and not even Phlox could give them a definitive answer. A bit of colour has returned to his cheeks, though his grey eyes still stand out against the paleness of his skin. His hair is all over the place and evidence of bandages are visible under his loose grey shirt.

“You’re staring,” Malcolm says.

“Oh.” Trip forces his eyes away. “S’rry.”

“I never said I didn’t like it.” Malcolm raises an eyebrow. “A little too much pity in your gaze, however.”

“S’rry,” Trip says again. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I can’t help it, Malcolm. Little over a week ago you were there lyin’ on the ground-”

“Trip.”

“-like a dead man, an’ then-”

“ _Trip,_ ” says Malcolm a little more forcibly. The engineer’s gaze snaps up. “You’re babbling.”

“Guilty.” Trip smirks. “I jus’… when you first woke up, you scared the livin’ daylights out of me. You were screamin’ an’ all. The next time, though…” he scoffs. “No matter what, I can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout it.”

“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t about my brush with death?”

Trip’s heart skips a beat. “Can you read my thoughts?”

“Maybe,” says Malcolm cryptically. He smirks. “Or maybe I can just read you.”

They sit in silence for a moment. Eventually, Malcolm sighs and goes to join Trip on the edge of the bunk. “So are you here to finally express your undying love for me or to just sit there staring at me like I’ve grown a third head?”

“ _Third_ head? Where’s yer second?”

“Invisible,” Malcolm says without missing a beat. “So, what is it? Undying love or constant staring?”

Trip feels his cheeks turn red. “Malcolm…”

But he doesn’t get anything else out because Malcolm’s presses his lips to Trip’s and Trip feels his eyes close on their own; his entire body tingling with passion. All too soon, it ends.

“Well, you bloody well weren’t going to do it,” Malcolm says when he sees Trip’s expression.

“Is that a challenge?” Trip whispers, leaning in closer.

“Do you want it to be?”

In answer, Trip wraps his arms around Malcolm’s waist and pulls him in for another kiss, parting his lips slightly so as to deepen it. Malcolm hums in pleasure and snakes one arm around the back of Trip’s neck before every so slowly leaning backwards, and the two of them are sent falling onto the bed; still locked in each other’s embrace. Trip leaves a trail of gentle kisses down Malcolm’s neck; his collarbone, reveling in the way his newfound lover moans with his touch. Heat floods his body and comes to rest in the special area between his legs.

When Trip reaches the bandages that encase Malcolm’s torso he hesitates, nervous to touch any part that could be healing. Malcolm squirms beneath him in a clear sign of impatience and Trip raises his gaze to meet Malcolm’s questioning grey eyes. “I dunno ‘f I…”

But Malcolm, as stubborn as ever, grabs Trip’s collar and pulls him down for another kiss, this one more desperate than the last. Hands move between them; touching; exploring. Then Trip’s fingertips brush against Malcolm’s still-healing wound and the armoury officer yelps. Trip lunges backwards like he’s been burned, fear running through his veins. Still pinned underneath him, (though Trip’s do his best not to lean his full weight), Malcolm lets out a short chuckle.

“Apologies, Commander. It appears you were right.”

Trip smiles in relief and presses a gentle kiss to Malcolm’s forehead, the way he did in sickbay, and rolls off of Malcolm so that they’re lying side by side. Malcolm takes in quick, slightly wheezy breaths; his hand resting on his chest. “Perhaps we were a tad too ambitious,” he whispers. Trip laughs and reaches a hand out to tilt Malcolm’s head towards him. “S’alright,” he reassures the injured man. “I’m a surprisingly patient guy.”

“Never would’ve guessed,” Malcolm says with a smirk. Then he snuggles in closer, delivering a quick kiss to Trip’s lips and burying his face in his chest. Overwhelmed by the sudden affection Malcolm is showing, Trip freezes.

“You’re tense.” Malcolm’s voice is muffled by Trip’s shirt. Trip snaps out of his trance and wraps an arm around Malcolm’s shoulder, bringing him even closer. He closes his eyes and buries his face in Malcolm’s hair. “I was jus’ worried ‘bout you, Mal.”

“I’m alright,” Malcolm reassures him. “Now that you’re here.”

“I never took you fer the sappy type.”

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Mistah Tucker.”

Trip begins to stroke Malcolm’s hair absentmindedly. “When can I learn?”

Malcolm laughs. The vibrations spread through Trip’s body, leaving a warm sense of happiness in their wake. “Perhaps another time. ‘m sleepy.”

Trip hesitates. “I’m holding you to that,” he whispers softly. Malcolm doesn’t respond. Malcolm’s somehow already asleep.

Trip doesn’t follow for another hour or so. He’s too worked up in a whirlwind of emotions; pride, ecstasy, anxiety and joy among them. Malcolm, still attached to Trip’s arm, sighs in his sleep and snuggles in.

 _Goddamn,_ Trip thinks. _I love him. So much._

Long overdue exhaustion washes over him and his eyes flutter closed on their own. Before long, Trip is asleep too.

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't find a good place to end it whoops-


End file.
